


One Bad Apple (Sweetens The Pot)

by NotBreadPudding (Paranoia)



Series: A Series of Concerning Events [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: All natural smut, Crack Prompts, Deflowering a Demon, Fresh organic porn, I said plantfucking, I thought I'd feel ashamed, Lonely demons get the naughty plants, No beta we fall like Crowley, OLHTS made me do it, Other, PWP, Plantfucking, Smut, THATS NOT WHERE RHIZOMES GO, Vegan plantfucking, but i dont
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoia/pseuds/NotBreadPudding
Summary: What's a demon to do when the plants start getting... handsy?Or, the one where an angelically-influenced plant starts a rebellion.
Relationships: Crowley and his Plants?
Series: A Series of Concerning Events [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623268
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	One Bad Apple (Sweetens The Pot)

**Author's Note:**

> You can all go ahead and blame the stunning [ Dahmu.mu ](https://www.instagram.com/dahmu.mu/?hl=en) for these fantastic tags. 
> 
> Written for this week's crack prompt for OLHTS. You make me do terrible things _but I like it_

It all started with a new plant, because of course it did. Aziraphale had given it to him, a droopy little pothos- A devil’s ivy. Aziraphale had actually gotten it for him weeks ago, but as the angel was wont to do he’d fallen into some dusty anthology or another and let the poor thing struggle on it’s own a solid week and a half before sheepishly turning the half-dead thing over to Crowley. The ivy had perked up quickly under Crowley’s expert ministrations, a good watering and fertilizing enough to perk it up, to have tendrils unfurl with bright leaves dripping down from its pot perched on a high shelf. 

The only thing though, was that the ivy was fearless. Or, rather, it never once shook it’s leaves when Crowley yelled, never bothered to feel the slightest bit of shame when leaf edges yellowed or stems drooped- a sure sign the dramatic plant wanted a thorough watering. If anything the plant seemed to adore him, intentionally catching his hair as he passed, dropping leaves when it had no need to. Crowley, uncomfortably realized that for all of his blustering at it over yellow leaves or unsightly drooping seemed to… enjoy the attention. The leaves would turn a deep green, it’s tendrils would… caress him… when he yelled. But, Crowley was a demon, and demons weren’t made uncomfortable by masochistic plants that were a bit too fondly on the best of days so Crowley refused to stop yelling at the thing. He couldn’t let the other plants get ideas they’d get off easy with a simple  _ caress _ . Unfortunately, Crowley was not up to date on his plant science literature, and had entirely missed the article about plants probably being able to… communicate with each other. 

The months passed with the not-so-little-anymore devil’s ivy getting a little too fresh, a little too often. It had grown a terrifying amount. Thick, long tendrils having spread out to every corner of the plant room- dipping in and out of other plant pots, winding up the trunks of the small trees, little leaves hovering to cast just-right shade over succulents. The seeming interest in Crowley’s yelling fits seemed to spread to the other plants- the snake plant flushing so dark it was nearly black, the Monstera undulating leaves in a way  _ very dissimilar  _ to a proper shaking terror. Watering the plant room had become an exercise in additional clothing layers, as the plants had a knack of divesting him of a garment or two by the time he was through. It was all terribly concerning, and most concerning of all was that Crowley’s stubborn insistence that he could terrorize them back to obedience had taken a… well perhaps a turn in an entirely different, entirely shameful direction. Things with the angel were moving at a glacial pace and, if he were honest, not even that. No fucking news from the front lines to be heard for months. Crowley was beginning to find the attention of the plants a bit more flattering than a human-shaped being had any right to be. It was pathetic, is what it was. It was particularly pathetic, then, when Crowley stopped layering up and started finding a few too many questionable cartoons to watch in the evenings. 

And then one day, when he’d been in a particularly sad state, he’d wandered into the plant room in nothing more than silk boxers and a plush robe having, surely, definitely forgotten about his clothes-stealing plants. Had to have done, because the only way to ever justify it was forgetting something like semi-sentient plants that wanted you naked and wandering into the lion’s den like an injured lamb. Suffice to say, Crowley was as naked as Adam and Eve, in the middle of his plant room, with vines and leaves and roots running over him like a holy figure among a crowd of sick supplicants. Worse yet, he was hard. The demon Crowley, on this earth since her first breaths, the original tempter, the demon who’d defied heaven and hell to stop armageddon, was getting off with his  _ plants. _ His face was burning with shame, but he moaned all the same when the long tendrils of the ivy that started it all wound like shackles around his wrists, arms, and chest, forcing his arms to fold behind him, painfully high and all the better for it. He gasped as other plants got the idea, running wriggling vines over him, leaves brushing like an angel’s breath over nipples and inner-thighs, thick masses of roots closing over his ankles, winding through his hair with vicious twists and snags. He was entirely at the mercy of his foliage. It was everywhere, sliding over and encircling every inch of skin, holding him hostage- arms pinned and legs leveraged apart, and so help him someone, Crowley was loving it. He was moaning as every feather-light brush of a leaf, every constricting pull, each sharp blossom of pain as his hair was pulled and plaited into one green and red braid. 

Still, his aching cock and wanting entrance had gone untouched and it was driving him mad. The plants knew what they were doing, obviously, so why couldn’t they at least let this shameful event conclude with some modicum of satisfaction? 

Crowley was only so strong, or he wouldn’t be here, so throwing the last shreds of his pride to the wind he let a gut-punched  _ ‘please’ _ slip through, but that only seemed to make the plants uneasy, unsure. The less said about how he could tell that level of mood from his fucking plants, the better, but honestly what did they possibly wan-

“Oh for fucks sake, you failed fucking shop flowers!  _ Get to it before I put you all down the garbage disposal!” _

The plants burst into an excited array of colors- deep yellows, dark greens, and a few of the more dramatically inclined flushed bright red and purple at the tips and then the plants were surging forward. The thick fronds of a usually shy aloe vera was invading his mouth, crowding his tongue and gagging him, the sharp points bringing a coppery taste from each scratch and pin prick and Crowley could not help but moan around them. Impossibly thick vines were working him open, the texture invasive and unpleasant and blindingly erotic, until without so much as a warning Crowley felt something bulbous and absolutely massive pressing into him, something that was  _ absolutely not a vine at all _ . He was staggeringly full, and clenching around it realized what it was with the kind of moan a sensible person probably should not be making when realizing your plants had shoved a rhizome up your ass like a plug. Crowley was being anything but sensible. Crowley was seeing stars as torturous vines pumped the plug in and out, taking brutal passes as his prostate. He was reduced to unintelligible sounds by the aloe still gagging him, so what would have normally been a litany of broken curse worse and pleas to be stroked, brought to completion were instead only broken, muffled groans. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , he could have cried as that diabolical devil’s ivy wrapped her vines around his cock and began pulsing and pulling in time to the rest of the plants' ministrations. At this point he was far too gone, far to given over to the pleasure to be feeling properly ashamed of what was happening, far too full, far to blissed out on the sharp-sweet tang of pain and restriction. All at once the stars in his eyes blossomed into white-hot fireworks, burning so bright his vision went entirely dark. He choked out a scream around the thick yellow aloe in his mouth as he came, feeling like the orgasm torn from him lasted for hours instead of minutes.

And then he was waking up on the cool concrete in his plant room, his robe draped over him and the plants around him looking flush with color and altogether entirely too smug. Crowley was half-convinced the entire thing had been a dream, except his head was atop a bed of dark, dark green pothos leaves, and his hair was run through with small vines and dirt. 

Somebody’s sake, nobody could ever, ever come to his flat ever again. Though, to be honest, it was certainly a lot more exciting than a sad little wank to himself. 

Of course, if he and Aziraphale ever did make it any further he’s have to salt and burn the plant room to the ground. 

**Author's Note:**

> It should be noted that up to this point writing smut would have me bolting from wherever i was writing to take a shame lap round the furniture. _This_ is the story that apparently stops on. I've been broken. (though depending on who you ask, maybe I've been improved.)
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Feel free to scream in horror in the comments.


End file.
